The Tattoo
by PenguinBuddy
Summary: James Potter is everything a good Seeker should be, and he wants the tattoo to prove it. Companion oneshot to "Game On."


Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the amazingly talented J.K Rowling. I'm only borrowing the characters and world that she has so brilliantly created.

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_**The Tattoo**_

_A companion oneshot to Game On_

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The building was grubbier than he expected, and seemed to lean slightly to the left. A homemade sign that was enchanted to flash colors was propped up in the window proclaiming the services offered inside.

"You're_ sure_ you want to do this?" Al asked slowly, his voice hesitant.

"'Course, I do," James replied confidently. "It's just a tattoo."

"If you catch a disease, I'm telling Mum and Dad."

James shot Al a pointed look. "I'm not going to pick up a disease. Besides, that's what magic and cleansing spells are for."

These words did nothing to lessen Al's skeptical expression. "Whatever you say. I'm still telling them if you get an infection."

Godric Gryffindor. James loved his brother, but sometimes Al was a bit too straight-laced. He had asked Fred to come with him, but Fred had actually turned a bit green at the mere thought.

"Lighten up," he told his younger brother. "Dad's got one of a Hungarian Horntail on his chest."

Al made a face. "That's a family joke and you know it. He hasn't _really_ got one."

James smirked. "That we know of."

Al's face cracked into a smile. "Dad's already got a permanent scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. He doesn't need a tattoo to look cool."

"I'm not doing this to look cool," James explained with a tinge of annoyance. Godric, he wondered if Al was channeling his inner Eva Wood. That sounded like something _she _would say to him.

Eva… who was currently walking around Hogsmeade with that Hufflepuff, Jonathan Grant. James supposed it was a date… he wasn't sure. But whatever it was, the thought of the girl he fancied out with another bloke made him clench his teeth slightly. Grant didn't even play Quidditch, what did Eva see in him, anyway? What did Jonathan Grant have that he, James, didn't?

Al's voice tore him away from his thoughts of Eva. "Then what's this all about?"

"Dedication," James replied firmly, and stepped forward to push open the heavy wooden door. It opened with a loud creak and a tiny belled jangled inordinately loudly.

"Ah, welcome, welcome! My name is Madam Forsyth. Do step inside."

An older woman with frizzy grey hair swept back in a high bun and dressed in voluminous, bright pink robes stood next to a fireplace, stirring a large cauldron. The walls were lined with bookshelves fairly bursting with dusty tomes, and several tables were placed around the room. One table was filled solely with magical photographs of tattoos, piercings, and various hair ornamentations.

"How did you find out about this place?" Al whispered from behind him, his eyes quickly taking in the room.

"Wood."

"_Eva_?"

"_No, _Tristan."

"Oh. Well, _that _makes sense."

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" the woman asked. She moved away from the fireplace but the long wooden spoon continued to stir the contents of the cauldron without her assistance. A few puffs of blue smoke wafted out of the cauldron.

"I've heard that you do magical tattoos," James replied confidently.

"Certainly," she said eagerly. "Although all minors under seventeen must have parental consent, of course. Last thing I want is to be dealing with cross parents wondering why their children have decided to cover themselves in ink and the like."

"Pare-" Al began, but James stepped on his foot. Al fell silent.

He took a folded piece of parchment from the inside of his cloak and handed it to Madam Forsyth. She took it with a nod of acknowledgment. Her eyes scanned over the parchment, then she carefully refolded the note and placed it into her pocket.

"Now then, that's sorted - what kind of image were you interested in? I can create quite a range of images, you know. I once did a very detailed tattoo of Gilderoy Lockhart for a witch from Inverness. I image she felt a bit silly when he was exposed as a fraud, but then it was her choice in the first place. Bless, I doubt you boys even know who Gilderoy Lockhart is."

James was finding to difficult not to smirk at Madam Forsythe's ramblings. "I just want a Golden Snitch."

Her mouth twitched into a smile. "A popular choice among Quidditch players and fans. Not much required of my skill, I'm afraid, but still, I must abide by what the customer wants. After all, you're the one who has to live with it!"

"I have a drawing." James took another piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes. "My friend sketched it for me. This is what I want. On my right shoulder blade."

Madam Forsyth examined the parchment, upon which there was a drawing created by Fred, and nodded swiftly. "This can be done easily. Quidditch images are popular with the young crowd. I've had one young lad in here eight times."

She eyed Al, standing next to James. "Are you interested in one as well, or are you here for moral support only? Some like to have their friends with them; get peaky, you know?"

"Moral support," Al quickly replied. He seemed to pull his black cloak a bit tighter to his person as if it would protect him from being tattooed against his will.

"Very well, very well. You," she pointed first at James, and then a particular chair with a low back, "sit in this chair. You'll need to remove your shirt so I can access your shoulder area. No need to be shy. I've been married three times and I've got a son just a bit older than you. I've done all of his magical tattoos for him. Looks like quite the devilish rake, he does. Quite a hit with the witches."

James saw Al raise his eyebrows questioningly and silently mouth, "_You trust her_?"

James coughed in order hide the laughter he was holding back. He jerked his head in a quick and (hopefully) discrete nod. He did as he had been asked, removed his cloak and then pulled off his Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. He sat with his back to the woman, feeling a bit odd, sitting shirtless in front of a slightly barmy older woman. Still, for all of her eccentricities, she seemed harmless enough.

Madam Forsyth gently taped a tape measure with her wand and it began measuring James between the shoulder blades all on its own. While the tape measure did its work, the witch proceeded to ask him questions about coloration and size.

"_Last chance_!" Al said through a loud cough that probably hadn't gone unnoticed by Madam Forsyth.

James shot his brother a look that he hoped conveyed that he wasn't backing out now.

Bending close to his shoulder, Madam Forsyth muttered a long series of words and phrases. James could feel her breath on his skin, which frankly made him rather uncomfortable. But then the ink started to burn into his skin, as was the way with magical tattoos, and he forgot all about being mentally uncomfortable.

He grimaced slightly, but was determined not to show his surprise at the amount of pain now radiating from his shoulder blade. The last thing he needed was to worry his already over-anxious brother.

"It's normal for there to be pain during this part," he was told cheerfully by Madam Forsyth as she continued to move her wand slowly. "Once the ink has properly burned in, I can cast a disinfecting charm and a cooling charm. The cooling charm will keep the shoulder relaxed and mostly free of –"

Here she broke off, because Al's green eyes had rolled back in head and he had fallen with a loud thump to the floor in a dead faint.

"Oh dear," Madam Forsythe commented conversationally, not seeming disturbed by this development in the slightest. "Still, he's not the first and all. Just last week, I had someone sick up right on the floor, there, where he's laying."

James felt that he hadn't needed to know that detail (and he certainly wouldn't be repeating it to Al). He peered down at Al's unconscious form and found himself laughing lightly at the irony. He'd brought his brother because Fred found the whole prospect terrifying and felt peaky just thinking of watching, but Al had _actually_ passed out. It made him a bit wary of how his shoulder must appear right now. He supposed the sight of ink being burned into his skin likely wasn't a terribly pleasant sight.

"Should've offered him a chair, I suppose. But he'll come 'round all right. They always do. Get him a spot of tea and a bit of chocolate and he'll be right as rain."

On the floor, Al stirred and groaned. "Ouch."

"Just stay right there, young man, we'll sort you out in a moment. Just now I need to put on the finishing touches."

Madam Forsythe stopped waving her wand, though James still felt pain radiating from his right shoulder blade. Then she gave a small jabbing motion with her wand and a cool sensation flooded over his shoulder. Another movement with her wand and James suddenly felt a sensation akin to something crawling across his skin. He resisted the urge to squirm.

"The disinfectant charm feels a bit strange, I know," the witch explained. "But we don't want you going and getting an infection, now do we?"

On the floor, Al coughed at the mention of infection. James ducked his head to hide a smirk.

"Up you get, lad," Madam Forsythe reached down a hand and pulled Al to his feet with surprising ease.

"Now," she bustled over to a desk that sat against the far wall and opened the top drawer, "I've got some chocolate here somewhere, might be under those mouse traps."

"No need," Al explained, reaching into the pocket of his cloak and pulling out a bar of Honeyduke's best dark chocolate. Trust Al to be carrying a bar of chocolate around with him for such an occasion.

"You came prepared?" James asked in a wry tone.

"Well, it was a good idea, wasn't it?" Al countered as he snapped off a square and popped it into his mouth.

Fair enough.

Madam Forsythe handed James a large, square hand mirror and instructed him to stand in front of a wide mirror hanging on the wall behind him. Holding up the hand mirror in front of him, James was able to see his back in the reflection.

Right on the spot he had specified was a small rendering of a Golden Snitch in gold and black ink. Its delicate wings were outstretched, as though it was in mid-flight. He had specifically asked for the Snitch to be just smaller than life-sized so that it wouldn't be too prominent.

"That looks _quite dashing_, if I do say so myself," she commented happily as she examined her work. "You'll have all the young witches after you!"

James nearly snorted out loud. He didn't need 'all the young witches' after him. He just wanted one Quidditch-playing witch in particular.

"It's smaller than I thought it would be," Al said, leaning forward to get a look.

Their eyes met in the mirror. "Well, I didn't want it covering up my whole shoulder, did I?"

"For an extra four sickles, I can enchant the wings to flutter. Just every now and then, you know, so any Muggles don't get too suspicious. They'll just think it's a trick of the light. Adds a bit of a fun element to the tattoo, but it's your choice, of course."

"I'll leave it the way it is," James decided. This tattoo was for him, a symbol of his dedication and skill; a reminder of everything he was working towards. Someday he would play professional Quidditch and this Golden Snitch on his shoulder would remind him of his beginnings on the Gryffindor House team and of all the work it had taken to get there.

Someday.

He grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it back over his head. He felt a twinge of relief not to be without his shirt in front of Madam Forsythe any longer.

"Now if you need to, just cast another cooling charm later on. This one should last for several hours, though. I make sure they're good and strong," James was instructed as he paid a handful of silver sickles for his magical tattoo.

"Did Mum and Dad really give you permission?" Al asked the moment they had stepped outside of the dingy shop and back into the street.

"Don't be stupid," James retorted with a snort. "You know Fred's good at forgery. Everyone knows who we are; it's not like I could have gotten away with it otherwise."

"What if they find out?"

James shot Al a stare meant to intimidate him, but since Al was used to it, it didn't serve much purpose. "They _won't_."

"What if they _do_?"

"After all the stuff they did when they were our age, I don't think a tattoo is the worst thing I could have done. It's not like I stole a flying car or broke into the Ministry of Magic."

"True," Al shrugged, then asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Bit," James twitched his shoulder, feeling the affected skin twinge. He was sure that once the cooling charm wore off his shoulder wouldn't feel nearly so relaxed. "Thanks for coming with. Even though you passed out," he added with a smirk.

Al's face colored just a bit. "No problem," he paused and then said, "I just saw Eva and Jonathan go into the Three Broomsticks."

"Yeah?" James asked, not bothering to check the smirk that was creeping its way across his face.

Perfect.

"And Fred's over there…" Al said nonchalantly, pointing down the street. "You know…if the two of you wanted to say hello to her. Or something."

Cheers, Al. His brother wasn't as openly meddlesome of some of the other members of their family, but underneath that quiet exterior, he was right up there among the best.

"I reckon I do," James agreed, his mind hastily formulating a plan.

He was a Seeker, for Merlin's sake. Hadn't he just demonstrated that by having an image of a Golden Snitch burned into his skin? The anticipation, the thrill, the chase, the ability to change the outcome of the game, the perseverance until the very end… Yeah, he was going to go have a nice, innocent chat with Eva Wood.

**The End**

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In case anyone wants to go back and read it, James's chat with Eva can be found in Chapter 11 of Game On, and Eva finds out about the tattoo in Chapter 12.

A special thanks to my beta, _blue and gold_, for the helpful suggestions and fabulous beta abilities.

**Thank you for reading! Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Favorite quotes? I'd love to hear what you thought! **


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